Zombie Escape Plan #684 & Other Work Thoughts

Thoughts for the day:


Mothers, tired and exasperated, can usually only be distinguished from crack addicts by their proximity to a relatively clean child.


If my own children ever get into Harry Potter, they're each getting exactly one toy wand to play with, and they'll all be the same. I will have an elder wand, and I will constantly force my children to duel myself and each other to determine who is the superior wizard in our house. The winner will then be repeatedly smacked with a plastic lightsaber for being a giant nerd.


My long-term zombie survival strategies are pretty weak; most end at the local super market or Walmart. I think after that I'll try to determine if zombies freeze, and then try to make my way up to one of those isolated Alaskan towns. At least then I only have to worry about black-and-white vampires.

On Hypocrisy

I'm thinking of marketing a line of purity cock rings to fundamentalist Christian leaders.

What I'd do is melt down a bunch of used silver purity rings from pregnant teenagers and recycle them. Might make my thirty pieces. Also, it'd protect you from having unprotected sex with hot vampire ladies.

On Twilight

My friends, I'm sorry.

I've had a realization. You see, Twilight is my fault.


Today I wandered out of Walmart and passed someone who was clearly one of the People of Walmart. She was a flabberly 280 pounds of pure girl (not woman) in an all-black sweatsuit, matched with black horn-rimmed glasses, pasty skin and a tight mouse brown ponytail. In fact the only color I could really see was the enormous graphic on her already sizable full-zip hoodie.

The days of the Lone Wolf T-Shirt are over, my friends. This girl's jacket was actually a sharp-jawed sparkled jockey staring absently into space, superimposed over an unnaturally large green moon and an anorexic redhead. The words TEAM EDWARD were emblazoned across the region I would generally refer to as a woman's breasts, but for the fact that on this specimen they were rather more like one part of an already almost spherical torso which, I assume functioning much like solid-body planetary masses, bulges outward noticeably at the equator due to rotational velocity.


That was the moment I longed for the return of crazed Harry Potter enthusiasts. Goddam, those kids were hardcore by comparison. Hell, I've caught up on the movies, and though I still refuse to actually read a Potter novel I still know the gist of it, and that shit gets harsh at the end. I'm not exactly positive on this, but I'm pretty sure in the last book Harry Potter drops out of school with his two friends and cruises the world in his dead uncle's car looking for pieces of an evil wizard's soul to kill. Shit is tight, son.

And let's face it: when Harry Potter first came out it was intended for the 9-12 demographic, but after 7 books those kids are legitimately pushing the definition of teen now. Harry Potter fans can drive. They're punks and skaters and play in ska bands. Some of them are actually attractive women, guys. This is insane. But kind of awesome, too. These weirdos grew the hell up. Daniel Radcliffe's got a beard now; what's up with that?


And sadly, I wished them away. I spent so much time hating them for annoying me that by the time I'd accepted Harry Potter fans as a mere annoyance at there worst, all that hatred and desire for a distraction came to a head sprang forth an epic Big Bang of Awful Writing in the heart of some undersexed Mormon housewife named for her father.

I wished upon a monkey's paw, my friends, and I got fisted.

On Diurnalism

HURR I'M A BURRT. HEY, GUYS. HOW'S IT HANGIN'?
*AHURR HURR HURR!*









After four days of it, I feel it's safe to say I am now officially nocturnal. I keep Vampire Hours, going to bed only when the sun rises and remaining in my darkened room with blotted out light until dusk.

I expect the sparkles to set in soon. Hopefully I can stave off The Hunger for human blood and glitter until a cure can be developed.

On Vampirism

Admittedly my positive feelings on vampires ends with the first copyright-questionable Underworld movie and the boob-riddled guilty pleasure that is True Blood. I respect J.K. Rowling for writing well and maturing her lame-ass little wizard characters.

However, as a professional writer, fully endowed with a creative writing degree from a once-respectable university and a wit so grand it seems to overcompensate for something else, I can honestly and expertly say that Stephanie Meyers is the worst thing to happen to goth kids since Hot Topic.

Now there is a conundrum, if you seem it.

1. One must read Twilight to criticize it effectively or more people will read it
2. If one reads Twilight more people have already read it

Worse still, if one reads these atrocious tomes she will suffer far worse through the purple prose because she is aware of what good writing is supposed to be.

So how does one manage to avoid the sparkly kids and still bitch like a know-it-all? Sacrifice.

I don't mean to say sacrifice yourself and take on the burden of horrible. I mean a legit throw-a-young-girl-into-the-volcano SACRIFICE.

Yes, I can attest to the expert opinion that Twilight sucks because a colleague made the sacrifice and I watched idly to get her reaction. Granted, she absolutely HAD to read the next three books to find out what happened, but we both agreed that this was like saying a a heroine addict needs another fix to find out what happens to the spoon and the needle. The short version is "Twilight sucks. Officially."

Well now that's not just a crass way of putting it.

I know you're all familiar with The Vamp from Tantus, fine maker of silicone adult novelty smile-items. If you are not familiar with this prosthetic penile attachment (and are absolutely terrified of clicking the link) I shall summarize:

The Vamp^® is a sparlky dildo. A sparkly dildo made of silicone, so it can retain either warmth or cold. They emphasize the cold aspect. Heavily. Also, did I mention it sparkles?

I now reaffirm my previous assertion: Twilight sucks.

Now literally! Behold! Count Cockula^TM for the succubus-loving man you unrealistically hope will levitate into your life. Yes, that is a fang-toting can of vaguely flesh-like material, featuring a deep tunnel lined with soft, fang-shaped nobs for doing unspeakable things to your coven member's member.

It's times like these I'm thankful for being a fan of zombies. All we ever get is some sprinting complaints and elective surgery jokes.